Make Do and Mend
by NoOneKnowsIWriteThis
Summary: De-Anon from the Kink Meme. Fem!America visits England who is still recovering from WWII, she can't help but find his extreme skinniness, which would be dangerous for a human, incredibly arousing. USUK


**From 11/2011**

England was tired. So tired. He hadn't felt this tired in ages. It was ironic how the peace sapped his strength so much. During the war, even when London was under attack, he hadn't felt this weariness. He'd pressed onwards, focusing on the end which would inevitably come.

Then it was over. Euphoria broke out in the streets. Nothing mattered except that the war had ended. And he found himself with America in his arms, lips eagerly attacking his, murmuring sweet loving words he'd never thought he would hear her say outside of his dreams.

England glanced at the pen in his hand where it had paused above the paper he'd been working on. America had said she'd be visiting him soon. He felt a gentle warmth fill his chest at the thought. America was coming to see him.

As if thinking had summoned her, the doorbell rang loudly, echoing through the empty house. England sighed and laid his pen down on the desk before making his way out of the study to the front door. He opened the door to discover America smiling up at him in a new red and white polka-dot shirt, a full navy blue skirt, black heels, and nylon stockings, surrounded by her luggage.

"England!" she exclaimed happily at his appearance, roughly embracing him, barely missing stepping on his sock-covered feet.

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, somehow maintaining his balance. "I missed you too, love," he murmured in her ear.

She tightened her arms around his slender waist and buried her face into his shoulder. She could feel the sharpness of the bone easily through his button-down shirt. "I brought you some presents," she sang as she released him.

England's cheeks colored as he turned his face away sheepishly. "You don't have to do this," he protested weakly, knowing that nothing he said could convince America to change her mind.

He turned back too late to catch the brief glimmer of guilt in her eyes. "You're still rationing," she insisted firmly. "It's my job as the hero to help you."

They both avoided mentioning the Lend-Lease debacle as she handed England the lightest of her suitcases.

America made her way straight to the kitchens where she opened up one of her traveling chests to reveal several different kinds of foodstuffs. She smiled over her shoulder at him as he placed her luggage on the ground and began to help her put the food away.

"You shouldn't have," he protested again.

Her expression flickered for a moment. "I brought you tea as well," she replied. "It's in another suitcase with some new clothes."

"America!" England objected. "This is really too much."

She stopped what she was doing and captured England's slender hand, twining their fingers together. "I love you, England," she murmured, rubbing her thumb along his.

England's face colored, and he brought her hand to his face. "I love you too, my dear," he answered softly before pressing a quick kiss to the back of her hand.

"So let me spoil you," she said teasingly, pulling her hand out of his loose grasp and returning to the food.

England sighed, resigning himself to his fate, and began moving America's other suitcases into the bedroom.

Once that was done he collapsed onto the bed and allowed himself to lie there for a bit. He didn't move until he heard the clicking of America's heels on the floor pause outside his bedroom. "Come in," he invited as he forced himself to sit up.

America smiled at him as she entered the room and crossed directly to one of her suitcases. "I got you a new shirt and pants, and a new pair of shoes," she announced as she pulled out the clothes. She walked over to the bed and stared at England, who watched her bemusedly. "Well, try them on," she insisted, placing them on his lap.

He let out a slow breath and stood up, leaving the clothes on the bed, and undid his tie. He laid the strip of silk on the bed before swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off. America felt her breath catch. England's shoulders jutted out sharply, and even through the tank top, she could see where his ribs lay beneath his skin. She let her eyes travel slowly lower, following the bottom of his ribs down to where his hips, as bony as the rest of him last she'd seen, were hidden beneath belted pants. America could feel her face heating just from watching England. Her hand went to her neck and undid a few of the top buttons on her shirt.

England had never been a bulky nation, but he hadn't been this thin their first time together. It had been something that had happened over the past few years as he'd begun to free his colonies and started to deal with his wartime debt. And America secretly relished it. She knew it was a sign that England was under a lot of pressure and not doing so well, but for some unknown reason it still excited her in a way she was ashamed of.

"America?" England asked, breaking her out of her hidden thoughts.

She blinked as her fantasy was dispelled. "Huh?" she replied, startled.

England gave her a concerned look. "Are you alright? You got very quiet." He watched her carefully, the shirt she'd brought him hanging open on his slender form.

"I'm fine," she hurriedly replied.

He walked over to her. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You seem a bit flushed." His words hung in the silence for a moment before America pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

"Sorry," she panted when she finally let him go. "You just looked really sexy for a moment."

A mix of emotions flickered across England's face, as if he didn't know how to respond to America's blunt confession. Desire finally won out and England replied, "You look rather lovely yourself," before he reconnected their mouths, pulling her back towards the bed with him.

America wrapped one hand around his waist, running her fingers over his spine, delighting in each vertebrae she felt. She placed her other hand against his sharp jaw, moaning into his mouth as she felt his bony wrist and fingers pressing against her back.

They tumbled together onto the bed, America landing on top, her legs straddling England's hips. They pulled apart in order to undress, England swiftly undoing her blouse, and America working to remove his pants.

"New belt?" she asked, pulling the strip of leather off of his waist and tossing it to the floor.

He nodded rapidly. "My old ones weren't fitting well."

America felt a shard of guilt hit her. He'd already tightened many of his old belts as far as they would go. But then he shrugged his shirt off, and she could see his shoulders jutting out and his collarbones contrasting against his skin, and she could feel the sharpness of his hip beneath her hand. Another wave of desire rocked her body, and she let her blouse fall to the floor.

England gave her an eager smile, which she rewarded by undoing her brassiere, freeing her generous breasts to his roving eyes.

"Lovely," he whispered, cupping one in his hand. "Absolutely lovely."

She blushed, her body's poor attempt at modesty, and toyed with the bottom of his tank top. He smiled softly at her, an expression that was out of place with the location of his hands. They pulled apart to continue undressing. America slipped off her shoes and skirt, tossing them to the ground, leaving her in only her underwear and a garter belt and stockings.

England ran his eyes slowly down her body, drinking her in, as he licked his lips, his pants pooled on the floor around his ankles. "Those are new?" he asked, gesturing toward her stocking-covered legs.

"Yeah," she replied, slinking over to him. "Bought them as soon as I could."

He nodded and placed his hands on her waist, slowly moving them down to help her take the rest of her clothes off. "I remember you during the war," he murmured as his skilled fingers made quick work of the garter belt. "You were lovely in trousers."

America smiled up at him, her hands going to his bony hips hidden beneath boxer shorts. She paused guiltily for a moment as her fingers ran over the obvious and sharp edges of his body. "You aren't bad yourself," she answered, moving to unbutton his underwear.

He chuckled, sliding his hands off her hips to her legs and pulling the last of her clothing down with him. She giggled in response as she released his boxer shorts. His hips were bared to her, and she could see his bone through the skin, the darkness only emphasizing where his pelvis jutted out. She could almost see through him, the outline of his skeleton was prominent with nothing to disguise it.

America paused. She knew that the slightness of England's body could not, could never be healthy. And yet she found it so interesting, fascinating, exciting. She felt guilt pooling in her stomach as well as the arousal. Her thumb absently ran across England's hip, feeling the sharpness, the hardness just beneath a small layer of skin. At the same time her head told her to pull away, to stop this and drag England downstairs and force him to eat a good, large meal.

"America," England purred in her ear, sliding his own hand across her hips, letting his fingers dig into her flesh. He pulled them both onto the bed with her on top and watched her face as he kicked off his socks and sock-garters. "What are you waiting for, love?" he whispered lustily, his warm, moist breath caressing her ear.

She stared at where her fingers were splayed on his chest, resting on his visible ribs. Another shiver of arousal ran down her spine, even as a splinter of guilt hit her stomach. "You're so thin," she whispered, the words barely making a sound, even in the silence.

England was silent. America nervously licked her lips before continuing. "You're so thin, I'm afraid I could snap you in half, that you're starving to death, that you'll become so weak you won't be able to recover." She drew in a shuddering breath. "And for some reason I find it _fascinating_."

"R-really?" England asked quietly, sounding a bit startled. America nodded her head slowly. "You don't mind that I'm not built like one of your superheroes? That I'm so...well, slight?"

She shook her head vigorously. "I love you, England. I'm just afraid I'll hurt you, you look so fragile." She ran her hand gently down his side, feeling every dip and peak in his body on the way.

He rolled them over so that her body was beneath his and smiled at her surprised expression. "Then let me pleasure you this time," he said firmly, a hint of power rumbling in his voice.

"England!" America gasped as she felt his hands roaming her body, shocking her out of her shock. He grinned wolfishly above her, eliciting a long moan as he forced himself to slowly enter her rather than rushing in like he longed to do.

After only a few short moments, England had managed to bring both of them to completion. He pulled out of America and lay beside her.

"How are you feeling?" America asked, a hint of nervousness and guilt sneaking into her voice.

England drowsily smiled at her. "Fine, just tired," he answered, gently cupping her face with his hand.

She reached her own hand up to meet his and held it, nuzzling her face into his palm. "Why don't you rest while I make dinner?" she offered.

He nodded slowly. "That sounds lovely," he murmured, though he couldn't suppress a whine as America slid out of the bed and released his hand.

"I'll be back in a bit," she promised softly, gathering her garments from the floor and re-clothing herself.

After some time had passed, England got up and dressed himself again. He walked down to the kitchen, his open shirt hanging loosely on his slender form. He stood in the doorway and watched America bustle about humming some nameless tune, her breasts bouncing under her shirt without the constraint of a bra as her bare feet glided across the floor.

"I love you," he whispered. America whirled around, startled, and smiled at him.

"Dinner will be ready in a bit," she said, grinning as she walked over to him.

"I love you," he repeated softly. "Is not that strange?"

She shook her head, a gentle smile on her face. She slowly placed a loving kiss on his cheek. "I love you too, dear. I love you too."

* * *

This takes place in the late 1940's, after the end of WWII and American rationing, but before the end of British clothing rationing in 1949.  
Rationing, for those who don't know, limited how much food and new clothing people could buy (among other things, but I focused on food and clothes) because supplies were needed for the war. After the war ended it to Britain some time to get off rations. Food rationing didn't end completely until July 4, 1954.  
The description of America's clothing - I put this in to emphasize America's new post-war prosperity. Hence her new shirt, the full skirt (during clothing rationing limits were placed on the number of pleats skirts could have, etc.), and the nylon stockings.  
"Lend-Lease debacle" - the US spent a lot of time dancing around actually supplying the UK (and the other Allies) in an attempt to stay out of the war. They finally settled on the Lend-Lease program, the basic idea being that the US would loan stuff to the UK and get them back/be paid for them after the war. This program was abruptly terminated in August of 1945, which was a problem since the UK depended on this program for a lot of their food.  
Nylon stockings - pretty much impossible to get during the war because the nylon was needed for other things. There's a separate stocking for each leg and they're held up with a garter belt or suspenders.  
"You were lovely in trousers." - My head-canon is that Fem!America wore a man's uniform during wars, possibly binding to avoid questions about why a woman was on the battle-field.  
Boxer shorts - England's have a button fly instead of an elastic waistband because elastic was needed for the war effort.  
"You don't mind that I'm not built like one of your superheroes?" - I had to fight so hard to not put a Captain America reference in here.  
"I love you," he repeated softly. "Is not that strange?" - My head canon also states that England often quotes stuff when he's feeling particularly sappy or romantic. This is a line from Much Ado About Nothing.

 **This is a very old story, my writing has greatly improved since. I'm uploading it here for archival purposes. Please keep that in mind before offering constructive criticism.**


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